


alone and lonely

by ollie_outie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-01-18 16:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ollie_outie/pseuds/ollie_outie
Summary: me? projecting my feelings onto gamzee? it's more likely than you think.
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> as always, if ya ever wanna talk about this gross lil clown kid or req a fic, feel free to hit me up on tumblr [@clown-of-madness,](https://clown-of-madness.tumblr.com/)

You are alone and you are lonely, held fearsome strong in the chilled grip of the ocean, water pulling at your feet and slowly crawling up your walkstubs. You ought to get your husk inside, drag yourself wretched up the sand if your beach and settle into 'coon for day. But, you can't. Not just yet. You _need_ to see the goat tonight, need something to claw this sinking feeling out of your guts. A seadweller might even do you good at this point. A sign of something else existing, proof you ain't all on your lonesome in this world, only the company of a messy hive to keep you, that's all you want. Used to be the old got never strayed far from hive, and you'd end the night plucking bright white fur out from your clothes and feeling content as any wriggler could get at being. You must've fucked up though, pissed him off somehow because he kept leaving, left you alone with your empty beach and too large hive and aching clawing lonely.  
You sit and pray for somebody to show face, letting the ocean soak and brine you as it crawls steady forward. You feel it freezing you like it's the easiest thing it ever got at doing in this whole messiahs damned world, chill seeping into your bones like that's where it's always been fated to be. Almost gets at burning, like, when it reaches to your fingers. And ain't that a miracle on its own right, for something to act as its own antonym. Water so cold it burns. Highblood so high it's calm. But ain't nobody with sense ever gonna warm their hive with the ocean. Ain't nobody about to call a dumbass purple friend. World gets to being so funny-like sometimes.  
It's when you feel the ocean laping at your mouth, salt filling you up and making the bitten up mess of your lips flare bright and hot, that you know you need to crawl up through the sand to your hive. Sitting in water as you have been, every little jolting move makes your bones groan up at you all harsh, making their complaints well known. It's important though, a ritual you keep almost as dedicated as prayers. Sit at waters edge, wait hope _pray_ for company, and when the ocean reaches up to give you it's good day kiss, drag your bones up hive.  
You get at laying just in the doorway a while, letting your husk settle. You ought to spend time in the aubulations trap, can already feel salt drying tacky itchy onto you. But you are tired, and cold, and just about ready to up and expire from lonely. That's part of the ritual too now, you think. Aching. Almost gets to feeling holy now, ain't saints meant to suffer after all? You doubt your sad self could ever rise up to their ranks, but you think mayhaps you can learn that from them. Your suffering may be holy, if you can make yourself worthy of the messiahs regard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _gamzee hurtin alone on his beach_ take two electric bugaloo

You are alone and you are so goddamn lonely, sober enough to actually fucking feel the way lonesome crawls all up on you like a terror, sticks it's cold claws in your sack and _motherfucking rends_. You hate sitting on this beach, watching out for mangy white fur or a glimpse of horns so like yours. You hate knowing he won't be there, no matter how hard you look, hate that hope has fled you and left you aching hollowcold. But you can't go back inside, because even with hope ran off compulsion is still stuck in deep under your hide and between your ribs. You have to stay here, you can't miss him again, you motherfucking can't.  
So you sit, absently licking little globby bits of green off your claws, praying for it to be enough to let you reach day. It's never enough,you think, soper only fills you up a short fucking while, forces the lonely and the shadows from your pan just long enough that you can greet the tide, but never long enough for him. You doubt an eternity would be long enough for that rotten _motherfucking WASTE_ of a lusus to be away from hive, doubt he remembers he's got a wriggler to come back to, even. You can sit here patient and loyal as any barkbeast, and he won't show his mug for days_perigees**SWEEPS**_, won't come back at all. Who in the unholy motherfuck ever comes back to you, anyway. Not any creature with sense, not anything but lowbloods that think companionship can be your leash, that _their pity can be salvation, fools as ain't realized their place, ain't realized the closest they'll EVER GET TO HOLY IS AS YOUR PAINT, AIN'T REALIZED YOU'RE ALL GONNA PLAY A MIRACULOUS MOTHERFUCKING GAME AND IT'S ONLY GONNA END WHEN_  
You swipe frond through the last little bits of slime, get another couple fingers full of _poison_ in your maw and focus yourself all down to the way it buzzes against your fangs, bright and sweet enough to ache. There's nights where you _swear_ you can feel it all rotting you out from the inside. It's better, you hope, than the ugly shadows as slip around and through you, better to feel your guts melt and dream of your face dripping down your skull like candle wax _<s>you can see there's a face underneath your own, something shiny with eyes brighter and bluer than anything you've ever seen, it stares back from the mirror and calls itself Friend and you are so, so scared</s>_.  
The sun ain't coming for another hour yet, you're well accustomed to the way it feels, the way the moons will set and switch out with the sun and how motherfucking fast it will set you and your beach to scorching, you know when the sun rises and you ain't got that pain to look forward to quite yet. You look up again at the moons, bright green and soft pink against the pitch of the sky. You want to go inside, want to hide yourself away from this too familiar view and sleep until the sea itself comes knocking to wake you. Your bones creak and groan as you stretch fronds out far and above, like you were trying, almost, to reach a star.  
Compulsion still claws at you, sinks itself deep and cold in your gut, but the lonely out here, the way you can almost feel something strange gazing out at you, pushes your bones up and to standing so that you are just swaying with the barest bit of your toes in the water. This night is fucked as any single thing could ever get at being, might as well throw your _useless_ motherfucking routine out to the fishes, too. ain't like it's ever done your sorry sack more good than chilled bones and an aching pan.


End file.
